David Harth 1998-11-07 David Harth 1998-11-07

Shattered

I’m shattered

My self-scattered across

This heartless land

This desolate place

I say goodbyes

And give away my gold

And dance to the

Hammer tunes

My pretend dreams

Broken

Lost

And stolen

Dead grandmother’s

Rolling and turning

In their graves

Because it’s just you and me

Baby

I’ve received signs

I’ve fortified and

Made adjustments

To accept

And pretend

I may be shattered

But I’ll never be destroyed

Every time I fuckin go

I just realize

And I stand by my beliefs

I don’t believe in love

It’s just imaginary

A fuck for false fighters

My love is for you

Always

But when you fuck around

You kill me

It hurts

But you have NOT destroyed me

98.11.07.05:57:00@ St Petersburg Florida Reddington Beach

David Harth 1998-08-27 David Harth 1998-08-27

September

stars

is what they are

in september rain

pouring down

television screens

remembering being made last winter

recorded

for memory purposes

silent corners

call me in jamaica

when you’re done

and finished

baby wake up

feel the coke machine at your side

the cold waters

feet by my side

stupid people

september falls

exotic part-places

come next door

let’s do laundry, wash socks

I’ll lock the door

and have a bowl of Cheerios

as you take your helicopter ride

98.08.27.16:37:32@NYCVIS10036

David Harth 1998-08-24 David Harth 1998-08-24

Sacrifice (Version #1)

I was walking in a straight path. In a field of golden grass. Looking up at

the orange sun in late evening and I heard the sun talk to me.

The sun said, “You know what to do, right?”

Astonished at the sun that spoke to me, “What?” I asked.

The sun spoke again “You shall put down your works and wrap barbed wire

around your thinning neck.”

Confused with a questioned look, I see razor sharp barbed wire just to the

left of me. Its slightly hidden in the tall swaying grass. Its rusty

serpent curves out onto my approaching path. I pick it up cautiously and

wrap it around my thinning neck. There was enough barbed wire to wrap

around my neck three times, and I do so. Each time the razors dig deeper

and deeper into my neck. Carving puncturing holes for flies to slaughter

and lay larva in. I continue walking with my warm red blood dripping down

my thinning neck.

“You have done wise,” the sun speaks to me.

In my path I walk and I can hear the sounds of drums and hand-made

instruments being played in the back of my head.

The barbed wire digs into my flesh with every step I take and my eyes begin

to close in thought of what I am doing. I wonder why lions have not

followed my blood trail or smelt my fear.

I question the sun, “What is this all about? Why did you have me do this?”

A few shadows pass by and then the sun replies, “Because you are an

important one, one who survives many moons, and protects children from the

uniformed dreams.”

Not fully understanding what the sun meant, I gave a perplexed look and

glanced toward the top of the sky at the sun. I heard nothing so I

continued on my chosen path between the blades of gold.

By blood now dribbles less, more cold - than warm. The sun is completely gone

now and the full moon guides my path. Although my path is no longer that of

golden grass, but now of grey rocks. I am climbing upwards, in this path of

rocks and flowing water. The moonshine reflects on the barbed wire wrapped

around my neck.

I hear voices. Yelling and horrible screams, but all very faint.

Disappeared children, stolen from their beds at night while dreaming. That’s

what it must be, that’s what I hear.

My path gets steeper now. And I miss the sun’s voice who spoke to me

earlier with sweet orders. Rock climbing, I notice my feet are bare. All

this time my feet have been naked? I don’t remember. I thought I had soles

before, but I suppose I was wrong.

After the nights walk, which seemed for many generations, I got to the top

of my rocky mountain. The altitude delivered fresh air and I could hear

hawks echoing in the valley distance. I stood still with barbed wire around

my neck, which now have carved black holes deep into my throat.

The east was bringing the sunrise. Slowly the same orange sun from earlier

rose into the thinning sky. Oranges and reds and yellows it brought up from

the other side of the land.

As it continued to rise, the sun finally spoke, “Now you shall walk forward,

close your eyes and progress...”

In my puzzle of my own thoughts, I knew if I were to walk forward I would

fall off the rocky mountain. Not understanding the sun’s intentions, I

begin to question the sun, “Why?”

The sun continued, “...for the children...do it for the children...”

With my right foot forward I step, I leap, I progress. I saved.

98.08.23.08:42:00@NYC10012

98.08.24.24:47:59@NJ07430

David Harth 1998-08-13 David Harth 1998-08-13

Surrender Your Hostage

duck

dive down

handcuff me

to an old metal kitchen chair

make me drunk

become a talked about secret

and the frontpage news

eat a red cherry

from my sweating lips

and become a story teller

98.08.13.22:54:00@ Rt17 Ramsey NJ

David Harth 1998-08-02 David Harth 1998-08-02

Saw Blade

I am a saw blade

Circular and round

I spin in cycles

I have a painted number on my side

It’s a number eleven

I am a saw blade

I cut and slice

I’m bold to go further and deeper

I have a number stained into me

It’s a number eleven

I am a saw blade

Similar to yin and yang

But certainly not

I can be spun on a driving nail

Or your vinyl player

But what makes me work

Is the electric hole

From copper wires

98.08.02.22:29:25@NJ07430

David Harth 1998-08-02 David Harth 1998-08-02

Some Say

Some say I’m a copy cat

Some say I’m like others

Some say I write about the same things

Some say I use too much foul language

Some say I have too many references to sex

Some say I’m too violent

Some say I’m too disgusting

Some say I’m too lengthy

Some say I owe them more

Isn’t weird

That no one has said the magical words?

Or wonder what really goes on?

Sure, they all contemplate

They all think

They all attempt

They all persuade

They all wish

They all figure

They all calculate

But no one knows about the bleeding

Or the sprouting

The feeding or the growth

Nobody hears about the untitled

Or the music which inspires

No one knows about the fantasy trips

Or the daydreams

About the timeless revolution

Or fascination with my own

Some say things they shouldn’t

Some should say things they do not

Some should share more and not hide

Some should contact and quit playing giving in

Some fall

And some catch

Some feel the approach of heat

While others are eaten by coyotes in the desert land

Some ran away from it all

To go up upon with the other stars

Some come back

And realize they left someone

98.08.02.22:25:38@NJ07430

David Harth 1998-07-27 David Harth 1998-07-27

Suicide

I wish I could hold

All the people that contemplate suicide

I wish I could give them something to cherish

And hold on to

I wish I could hug them

And cradle their entire life

In my pale palms

I wish they would call me

And ask me to help

I wish those who think

About suicide

Those who want to act upon it

I wish they would see me

And discover me

So, I can show them light

A new sunny way

A path of freedom

I wish I could hold

And give them warmth

I would bleed forever

And starve myself

To save the souls of the self-killed

I wish you knew me

When you took your life

I wish I didn’t record

My memory stopped

As you created an end for yourself

I wish I could rewind

Correct the wrong

And share life with you

I wish I could stab myself

To give you joy

And life once again

Many people will say

All sorts of things

But I remember you

As a reflection in a mirror

Of oneself that ended

So suddenly

Quiet

98.07.27.18:20:00@NYC10036

98.07.27.22:46:24@NJ07430

David Harth 1998-07-27 David Harth 1998-07-27

Scent

Your smelly stench

Encompasses me

Raw fish sea-weed armpits

Whirlwind of gunk

Around my body

As I hide and pray

And prey

You lift your arms for strength

And a breeze

But all you give me is hell

As Marley sings in my head

Feelings rust out

And your science fiction novel

Ignites in flames

From your dirty scum-disease

Smell

Unshaven

Welcome to Puberty

Ain’t no Fuckin’ ‘Can

Do use?

As I spray and splat bugs

On the back of your thicket of a head

Come on Rebel Rebel

Dog biting Warhol

And you 60’s Dick Scratcher

Take your filthy

Nighttime for school girls

Back to your Wife!

And remember

The carpet I put

Down for her

For her!

Take your whiskey

Saturated hairy ears

And mop up the urine

You left behind

Smelly fuck!

You wanna piece of me!?

You want it!?

Fuck you!

98.07.26.19:00:00@NYC

98.07.27.01:00:00@NJ

David Harth 1998-05-24 David Harth 1998-05-24

South American Blood

I see your taint eyes

Like a tranquilizer at night

Cool ocean breeze

And swarms of bees

Your cold black ovals

Eyes squinting at me

Hearing your accent

A puke of innocence

Your black reversed letters

Commanding P’s

Your voice ringing bells

And alarms forgotten

Suicide phone calls

And dripping juices

Crimes and borders

Patrols of dinero

Thinking of multiples

And your name

Wish I knew it

And had a daisy in my hair

Feeling strokes

Wish I knew those folks

Rhyming with hatred

And tired old tires

Burnt lungs

And tropical trees

Mothers recalled

I missed the delivery

I missed your arms

Hardly knew you

You approached me beneath virgin lights

All I was; was a fashion freak

You rise a club

A dish or two

I eat plenty

Of your lost vision

98.05.24.04:38:38@07430NJ

David Harth 1998-01-25 David Harth 1998-01-25

Stimulation

two doves sitting in a tree

two birds chirping at the morning sun

one’s beauty in a reflection at the pond

a picnic for two on a grassy green hill

an oak tree

and butterflies too

television and the media

humor and the people who make it

music to my ears

and your whispers too

a cool breeze

or warm hug

a scented red rose

or a furry little friend,

my pussy cat

an enchanting evening

for two at the lakeside

a lover surrounded by candlelight

bathing with too

water down the back

or whipped cream too

experimentation

a dare devil inside

a close dance

body against body

grinding passion

and intimate wonders

philosophy, pornography and people too

beauty and earth itself

and oh, my galore!

navels

a fetish for navels

eyebrows and eyes

perfect hair

skin to touch

caress once more

a belief in blood

and a beach night calm

seasons changing

warm and wet

cold and mine

an embrace

a smile

and painting you

imagination

hope

and ice cubes

temptation

lust

and desire

and most of all

she

she herself

being who she is

she

she stimulates me

98.01.25.20:40:00@NYCUSA

David Harth 1998-01-21 David Harth 1998-01-21

The Sky (Looking Up Towards The Sky)

My answer is never

For its only lost in my chambers

It’s like a cornucopia

Overflowing with passionate wonder

A bond of realism

With a surrealist stroke

A graceful touch

Performed like a dove’s dance

Beautiful beginning

At the birth place

A symphony of warmth

Surrounding gold candlelight

Deep brown eyes

Attacked by blackness of night

True difference unheard

While ignited flames burned

Rules and borders

When I only patrol my own mind

Cotton softness

Slender willow scented like a rose

Breath above her neck

Below the listening sense

A life a little ordinary

Conquered by the extraordinary

Rain poured

Down souls of bodies

I whisper to her skin

With my fingertips

Touched once

And forever remembered

98.01.17.00:00:00@NJNYC

98.01.21.00:00:00@NJNYC

David Harth 1997-12-17 David Harth 1997-12-17

sweeping

I sat in the airport

watched the faceless woman

she was sweeping

sweeping away

I observed her every move

with her long broomstick

sweeping

she stood there

faceless

in a blue jump outfit

faceless

no features were there

just a blackness

an oval black shape

like on a television screen

she was sweeping

sweeping away

I watched carefully

all the other travelers

and passengers

they were faceless too

passing by

rushing

running

faceless

with big black ovals

I watched the woman sweep

sweep away

intrigued

she was feet deep

in what she was sweeping

at the airport

she swept

faceless

I had to know

what was she sweeping?

I climbed out of my chair

walked towards the woman

the faceless woman sweeping

I looked down

she was sweeping

all the dead skin

left behind from the

passengers and travelers

97.12.15.01:26:00@MNJ07430

97.12.16.22:39:00@MNJ07430

97.12.17.23:07:00@MNJ07430

David Harth 1997-10-30 David Harth 1997-10-30

Slip

If you slip

wearing that black

a slip under

satin against soft smooth

A slip thru a curtain

silky sheets

slip thru a net

down below

Were you wet?

slippery at the time?

Under the ground

deeper and deeper

You slip

and fade

into the shadows

under the earth

under your slip

You slip away

you hear secrets

a whisper

of warm breath

in your right ear

than left

a whisper

a slip of the tongue

and then you wonder...

Am I slipping...

or is this just a dream?

a climb?

not slip...

but a climb....

97.10.30.16:57:00@NYC

David Harth 1997-10-20 David Harth 1997-10-20

Stranger

there he was

he sat in front of me

today

he sat there

his moldy face

his crew cut

in front of me

that there,

that strange man

reading the foreign hieroglyphics

looking out my window

his smell haunted me

seeped thru my clothes

made me choke on his hovering shadow

the stranger

that strange man

he sat there

reading all day

small light above

his amber eyes

stared back at me

wondered if I was the one

wondered if I was getting off

97.10.20.21:28:00 @ NYC USA

David Harth 1997-04-12 David Harth 1997-04-12

Swimming

I have parked in others spaces. I do it all the time. I love to do it. I pay to do it. They invite me. I have an invitation. I have proof. I have love; a devil’s look. A devil’s gold. I have a number. The first in line. A wonder about tradition. A complexity of design. A summer dream. A wet pillow. It’s a sunrise on the beach. One over the buildings, below the docks. The summer is ending, the life has just begun. See it, the garden? The apple trees? I own them. Come let’s play.... We will do our own surgery. Make a new living. The art of surgery. You love me, don’t you? Come, come to my house. There is a party. A new one for you, and for me. Let go. It’s time to go. Let’s go swimming.

97.04.12.17:05:00@31USQWNYC

David Harth 1995-03-02 David Harth 1995-03-02

Shoe Thieves

Yes, it is a corporation with business personnel,

A cathedral with levels of hierarchy,

A stadium with players and teams.

Yes it is a government with laws,

A playground with rides,

A human with systems.

Yes it is a world of thieves and burglars who steal your ideas.

But what is most important in this shadowy world?

In this world of quietness, darkness, and expression.

It is not competition,

It is not black clothing,

It is not hair on our skulls bursting with ideas and concepts.

What it is, is shoes.

Shoes, some give a damn, some do not.

But all in all, one picked those for some special reason.

Looks, comfort, support or credibility.

It does not matter, shoes are important.

Shoes tell us where you have been, and where you are going.

They tell us about you, your style and personality.

Black or hot pink.

Leather or plastic.

Clear or opaque.

Laces, buttons, zippers, or buckles.

High heels or flats.

Long or short.

Platforms or glitter infested.

They help the other cannibals in this little world.

To see you and to see through you.

Our world of our own.

Our world of shoes.

95.03.02.16:34:00@31USQWNYC

David Harth 1992-05-03 David Harth 1992-05-03

Scott

Tough Guy

5 foot, 8 inch Italian

Shot 8 times, stabbed too many

Slick hair

His right eye flickers

from a gunshot wound

The scars point out

entries and exits of bullets

Bulging veins cover his arms

He is off the Thorazine and doesn’t do the scuffle

He is on new medication,

medication that could put 8 horses to sleep

His huge appetite consumes all the hospital food

He brushed his teeth until his gums bled

A rough life

Lost his father at a young age,

supported his mother and sister,

and grew up in a world of drugs

and destroyed his life

A delivery man and a lumberjack,

a seller and a buyer

He cared and understood

He’s changing his life now,

I made him laugh,

and he helped me understand.

He helped me, and I helped him

A stranger, then a friend, and now a memory

He was Guy Scott

I called him Scott

He respects life now and has changed

He was Guy Scott, a friend, a gift from God.

92.05.03.22:00:00@NewCityNY